Tendrils
by Every Dog Has Its Day
Summary: About abscence, smoke and Domeki's still water voice. Wata/Dou.


**Tendrils**

Breathe in. Breathe out. The smoke tastes like peppermint, oil, grass. Yuuko. The smoke curls and twists, contorts boneless into the cold, the night. The hands holding it are delicate, but not feminine. The kimono is hers, but the scent is gone, gone, just like everything else, just like the taste of his food and his father's hands and-  
''Hey, idiot'' comes the voice, low and monotone, still water.  
''Shut up, ungrateful bastard''.

Smirks, canines. It's routine.

Without another word, Kimihiro gets up just as Domeki sits down, not waiting for the order to come. He prefers to do it without being asked, even if he doesn't mind that much, really. He will still make a fuss anyway, for old time's sake.  
He likes the smell that wafts up when he cuts vegetables, when he pours the sake in the old cups Yuuko kept in storage, waiting for someone to find them, maybe. He also likes when Mokona is yelling improvised songs in his ear, dancing around with a bottle of wine, even if he won't admit it. But tonight it's just the transparent smell of raw fish and silence, silence.  
''You look tired'' the statement comes without surprising him. Being alone has made him more perceptive of every aura, every presence, moths and dust and no butterflies.  
''I think I've been sleeping too much again. I haven't had a customer since that creepy medicine seller came by'' he explains, running around the kitchen with his pink apron and faded cat, sunflowers.

Domeki says nothing. He just stares with his usual frown and Kimihiro no longer has the strength for yelling. He's become more bite than bark, more dripping sarcasm in expensive clothes.

To make up for the absence.

OoO

''Don't you have a home? You're always here'' he says, with no real malice, between empty bottles and dirty dishes, in the porch, in the dark.  
''The pipe looks better,'' he dodges. ''Rabbit came by? I read about him on one of the books my teacher gave me''  
''He came by''.

Amber meets blue meets amber. The smoke circles around them, like Mugetsu used to. Ancient history. Domeki just stares like always, saying nothing like always but, not like always, Kimihiro understands what he never tries to say. He smiles sadly and lifts the pipe to his lips, breathes in, breathes out, peppermint.  
''Don't you have a home?''

It's unclear who asked it.

OoO

_Clang clang, _he goes, spilling notes around the room. Kimihiro doesn't know when he started playing the samishen, but there is a different air to the usually stoic face so he says nothing and lets Domeki tangle strings between them. _Clang. Clang. _Notes and strings and smoke, always the smoke. His back hurts from sleeping leaning on the wooden columns of the porch, watching his young un-aging hands and wondering how Yuuko must've felt tens, hundreds of years ago as she sat and waited and remembered how life used to taste.  
''Don't stop'', he says, whispers, pleads and the sound once more fills what little is left of Watanuki Kimihiro.

OoO

''Oi, wake up!''

He doesn't feel like it. It's nice and dark down here, where it smells like scentless smoke and he can't remember what a butter-_fly_ looks like.  
''Oi!''

He opens his eyes and all he sees is his own husky eyes, mismatched, limp.  
''Goddamit, Kimihiro!''

Now that's surprising. That's probably the first time he's called him by his name. Something important must be happening. But he can't remember what it is and it still smells like smoke and he just wanted to try and see if he could die like she never did.

''Kimihiro!''

OoO

''Master!'' ''Young master!''

When he opens his eyes again it's all feather pink and baby blue.

''Maru, Moro, good morning'' he says, but they don't smile like always, they just frown like Kohane usually does when he can't sleep for days and starts seeing purple eyes just around the corner of the shop.  
''What the fuck were you thinking?'' comes a growl, a threat, stoic, still water suddenly rushing towards the sea.  
''Was I, thinking?'' he answers, not wanting to admit he'd been pretty stupid, childish stubbornness he keeps for company. He can suddenly feel the hole left by Maru and Moro and it's just him and Domeki with his angry scowl.  
''What if she came back and found you dead, you moron? Just like I almost did?''

He suddenly can't breathe.

OoO

He knows it's in the middle of the night when he wakes up again, and he knows it's been a long time since he had a panic attack.

He also knows there is someone lying next to him.  
''I'm sorry,'' someone, or both of them, says. It doesn't matter anymore. Domeki is warmer than his eyes let on and his hands are gentler than what he thought they would be, as he rests one on his hair, a stray finger burning his cheek.  
''Don't do that again''  
''I won't''

Hours or maybe just minutes and seconds pass and they don't move or say anything else. Domeki's hand just trails his hair and he places his own hand on the other man's waist and buries his face in the crook of his neck where it smells of old wood and ghost temples and somehow feels that waiting for the stray butterfly won't be as painful, as lonely.  
''Shizuka''  
''Hmm?''  
''Just tasting it''

He can feel Domeki smile, for real, against his hair.

He falls asleep again.


End file.
